Champagne
by hannahbbug3
Summary: She stood before him with her arms crossed, evaluating him with an up-and-down look. "Are you sober?" Her eyebrows rose and pressed together, and her eyes widened slightly as she spoke. He did not blame her for her skepticism; he himself was surprised. He offered her only a shrug in reply and swirled his champagne in his glass. ShinonxTitania, mourning Greil


It was well past midnight and he was at a celebration. The music and laughter were loud and the girls were well-bred and beautiful and engaging and a bit tipsy, and the night was warm and the war was over.

He should have been in a better mood.

He was standing by the punch bowl with a full glass in his hand, a somber aura lingering over him and pressing down on his shoulders, causing him to slouch as he leaned against the wall. The nobles and war heroes were mingling, and, as a song started, began to couple up and dance. He recognized the waltz and the allemande and the question in the eyes of the girls that sent furtive glances his way, but he had forgotten the steps and how to ask, so they went ignored. He sighed and remained resolved in his solitude.

"Excuse me, sir mercenary."

He could not be sure if the man was mocking him, or was just trying to be polite while maintaining the distance of their social statuses. After sizing up the noble, who eyed him in return, the archer lifted himself from the wall and skulked off, a murmured "Excuse me," pointed in the direction of the noble marking his departure. Moving off to another corner, he rejoined the small group of partygoers that, like he, had nothing better to do than stand around and watch the merriment of the others.

A noblewoman approached. "Sir," she began, and he was sickened by the tone she took. Her hands rose up to interlock under her chin, and she batted her eyelashes wistfully. He followed the movement of her lips as she spoke. "I know it is a bit unusual for a lady to ask, but you just seem so lonely. Might I have your arm for this next dance?"

He nearly winced, but covered it at the last moment. "I… do not know how to dance. How about a drink?" he deflected, hoping she did not scorn him. Even he, callous as he was, did not want to have to deal with a noble house turning against him.

"Delightful," she said, but the smile gracing her lips was false, forced. "Lead the way, Sir…" she trailed off, peering at him inquisitively as she waited for him to finish the sentence.

"Shinon," he said, already heading back towards the punch bowl, with her following. "And I'm no sir," he chastised, though lightly. Her hand drifted up to rest on his bicep, and he fought back the urge to throw it off. He really wanted nothing more than to be let alone, but showing a little courtesy wouldn't kill him. The Commander had always been on his back about his manners. If he could see the archer now…

But the Commander was dead.

The sweet, upbeat trills of the woodwinds did little to lift his mood. The girl (for that's all she was, when he glanced down to take a longer look at her) clinging to his arm only released him after he'd handed her a glass. She stood near him, talking away about some battle that she knew nothing about and a war that she'd survived heroically, and asked him what he liked and what weapon he used and which noble house he was from.

He bit his tongue to avoid laughing at her. "I'm a mercenary," he spat. "You thought I was some poncy noble?"

She said nothing more, but her face reddened considerably. He knew this because he caught a glimpse as she hurried off, to find more suitable company.

Shinon shook his head slowly, chuckling under his breath. Leaning against the wall once more, he closed his eyes. He swirled his glass in tiny circles, creating a small whirlpool, and allowed a deep sigh to pass his lips.

"That doesn't sound very good."

Thirty seconds after it spoke, he decided to acknowledge the voice. "…I thought you were dancing with Gatrie."

"I believe he found someone more interesting," she quipped. "And my feet could not tolerate him any longer."

His breath left him a bit heavier; an attempt at a chuckle. "He never was renowned for his grace." The archer opened his eyes to regard the red-haired paladin, and a dim smile crossed his face. She stood before him with her arms crossed, evaluating him with an up-and-down look.

"Are you sober?" Her eyebrows rose and pressed together, and her eyes widened slightly as she spoke. He did not blame her for her skepticism; he himself was surprised. He offered her only a shrug in reply and swirled his champagne in his glass.

Her brow creased slightly. "Is anything wrong?"

He suddenly felt wildly out-of-character. "Why should anything be wrong?" he asked gruffly, tilting his head back to look at her through a narrowed gaze. "I'm just tired, you ever consider that?" He brought the glass in his hands to his lips and let half the contents run over his tongue and down his throat.

He gagged.

She did not laugh, but appeared to be highly amused. A smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she registered what she had just seen.

"No, I… suppose I didn't consider that." Her voice now took on a lighter tone. "I only assumed that, since you aren't drunk despite the abundance of alcohol available and the hour, and that since I've been in your company for nearly three minutes and you've only given me one half-hearted glare, that something was troubling you."

The archer made an effort to drive her away with his gaze, though both knew that such tactics did not work on her. Her eyes met and held his. He took a moment to study the emeralds that blinked at him – had they always been so green? – and then conceded defeat, looking away.

"So, you're having a decent time, then?"

He allowed himself to look at her again, but did not answer. He swirled his glass and leaned against the wall.

"Shinon?" Her eyebrows pressed low over her eyes. "Be polite."

He straightened to a more suitable posture and, looking a tad mutinous in so doing, extended the pinkie on the hand holding his glass. He considered a mock bow, but did not want to push her good humor.

"…that isn't what I meant," she said, but the archer could sense how her mood had risen from the rigidity that left her stance. Her tongue ran across the bottom of her lip, as though trying to prepare it for word. A second more of hesitation, then, "You know that you can trust whatever's on your mind to me."

"What are you, my mother?" The surly brute he'd been trying to keep in check suddenly emerged. His words carried more bite than he intended, and she recoiled noticeably. Realizing his mistake in time, he held up a hand to forestall her rebuttal.

"Let's find a place to sit down," he said. Her mouth, which had been parted in a half-formed reply, closed as she assented. They made their way around the dance floor to a small table on the other side of the room, shoved against the wall to allow more space for the dancers on the floor. She sat first, and he was faced with a dilemma of where he should rest himself – across, or beside?

"Do you want a drink?"

He was having second thoughts, and now thought that he might desert her. Maybe desert the party altogether.

"I'm fine." As though reading his thoughts, she was quick to reply. "Sit."

He grabbed the back of the chair that was beside her, pulled it a safe distance away, and turned it. When he did sit, in reverse, the back of his chair provided a barrier between them. Tiring of the prop, he sat his glass down on the table, and then rested his arms, crossed, on the back of the chair.

Her gaze had wandered to the dance floor, and he followed, allowing himself to be mesmerized by the fluidity of the couples. He wondered if, in a different time and place, he would have been among them.

"You don't like champagne."

He regarded her as she spoke, and struggled for words for a moment, as it seemed she wanted a reply. He finally settled for a "Very observant, Vice Commander," and hoped he sounded conversational enough.

She scoffed lightly. "I had always pegged you as the type to drink any alcohol in sight."

"Nah, that's Gatrie. I'm a bit more refined in my tastes."

Her expression turned skeptical, and she glanced to the still-full glass of expensive champagne. "I never considered you the refined type."

He snickered. "Maybe I used the wrong word."

She smiled, and the archer took pause to study the curve of her lips. They were not delicate or fragile like the lips of other girls that caved with kissed, unsubstantial. No, like the core of her character, Titania's lips were supple and creased, for, like himself, the lift of a mercenary had made her more given to frowning.

Gatrie always talked about eyes and bodies when he looked at women, which was often. In fact, Shinon could now wager, within three minutes of entering a bar, which woman Gatrie was going to train his sights on (he was usually correct). However, Shinon himself did not care for the naivety that Gatrie sought in the large, weepy eyes of girls, and the shape of a woman's figure told little about the character beneath. What's more, it could be falsified in an attempt to draw attention. However, he was not deceived – he knew that the real stories came from the lips, both literally and figuratively. It used to take a kiss or a story or two before he was sure he knew a woman, but his senses had sharpened since then. He could easily tell age, experiences, personality…

A girl that was naïve and gullible was perpetually smiling and talked about herself, usually had rounded, bare lips, and showed her teeth. A woman with a harder life was likely to not speak at all, and had a mouth drawn in a tight, thin line, and would sometimes be bruised. The easiest to read, of course, were the women with painted, waxen lips, who spoke from the corner of her mouth, extolling the man whom she was trying to attract, and only gave half smiles, her lips puckered and wanton. Gatrie usually spoke to those.

And himself?

Well, if he was drunk enough, he didn't really care.

The corner of Titania's mouth curved upwards, and he realized he'd been staring. Backtracking slightly, he tried to revive the last topic.

"Champagne's too expensive for my tastes."

"Oh? What is your taste, then?"

He grinned slightly. "I like my alcohol like I like my humor."

"…I didn't realize there was a drink that could be described as morbid."

"No, no." He laughed slightly, leaning towards her a bit and resting his weight on his elbows. "Dry and bitter, and strong enough to make you groan."

He finally succeeded in making her laugh. It was a soft, but relaxed noise, and she rested her arm on the table, her hand supporting her head as she looked at him. "What?"

"I want to be knocked out from the fumes alone," he furthered, smiling a bit as he allowed the muscles in his shoulders and back to relax.

"That doesn't sound very pleasant," she said, her laughter fading, but a smile still on her face.

He, however, let his expression fall. "Yeah?" he asked. "Well, that's probably because I don't drink for pleasure."

Now it was her turn to frown, but she looked more confused than anything. She did not need to voice her question, for it went unsaid.

"There are things that I'd be better off forgetting, Vice Commander, and it takes more than a buzz to do it for me. And believe me, I could probably knock back that whole punch bowl and still barely feel anything more than fuzzy."

He knew the question was coming before she voiced it. He could see her trying to work out the words so that, by phrasing them correctly, he would be compelled to answer. "…so what is it that you're trying to forget tonight?"

He turned away and regarded the glass sitting on the table between them. The light reflecting off the liquid inside had turned it sepia. He remained silent while he worked through a reply that would cover the… sensitivity that these memories brought him.

"..."

And yet, he could not seem to do it. He grit his teeth slightly and his tongue lashed against the inside of his mouth as he tried to work out the knot in his throat.

"Shinon? Are you all right?"

"…Greil."

A new expression flitted over Titania's face, though it did not linger. The light of realization entered her eyes, and her lips parted slightly as she inhaled, sharply. "Oh."

He didn't think that she would be so surprised. After all, she knew… more than anyone…

"You were in love with him." It wasn't a question, but she quickly seemed to try and deny his implication. He continued however. "He only ever loved Elena, and perhaps Ike and Mist. You respected that, so you kept your distance. Perhaps… you more than anyone… could understand why I…" his words faded off into an empty sigh, and he rested his chin on his arms.

Titania recovered more quickly than he expected. "Shinon, you know that's not true."

He lifted his gaze to look at her. He opened his mouth to retort, but she was talking again.

"We were his family. He _loved_ all of us, in his own way. He was our leader, and wanted the best for each of us. That's why he…" as she tried to reason out Greil's motives, he lifted his head. When he finally caught her gaze, he indicated the drink on the table.

"Have that, if you want it."

She did not hesitate for long, taking the glass in her hands and raising it to her lips for a sip or two. The distant look in her eyes and the slight trembling of her hand and chin did not go unnoticed.

"Nothing's wrong, Titania," he said. "At least, nothing than can be helped."

She took a moment to recover, then took another sip to avoid having to reply. He tilted his head, and continued. "We just each have our own ways of mourning. You don't need to worry; I've learned to cope with my methods."

"Shinon."

He had expected her voice to shake, but she was still strong. "You shouldn't be dwelling. Commander Greil wouldn't have wanted you to be miserable like this. We've just won a war, and the man who killed the Commander… he's gone. We have… nothing to regret."

"Oh, come off it," he spat. "Greil's dead."

"Shinon…"

"He's _not_ coming back, either. No matter what I… no matter what."

"Shinon, look at me."

He could but comply. Silence hung between them as he reluctantly met her gaze.

"Greil cared for you. I know it. I know that you saw him as more than just a leader. He knew that, as well. Shinon… your father figure, he's still with you. He's still with all of us. And he wouldn't want us to be mourning him tonight, when we should be celebrating our victory."

Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he became aware of laughter and loud music and voices cheering for the heroes that had won the war. With this realization came one that he'd been denying for the past five hours. He was having a decent time. He had been since the moment she entered his line of sight. He honestly… couldn't call himself lonely anymore.

He had needed this conversation. And who else could he having it with but her? No one else understood quite like Titania.

"You think he's happy, where he is?" the archer asked.

"I think he's watching over us, and wouldn't want you to binge every time you think about him."

The slight bite of sarcasm in her voice was enough to make him crack a small smile. He shook his head, and then lifted his hand to massage his temple. He closed his eyes and sighed, still grinning.

"Maybe," he conceded.

Titania nodded. Then, seeming as though she felt her work was done, she rose. She did not say anything more as she began to walk off. And he realized at once that perhaps it was she, now, that was in a sour mood.

"Vice Commander."

Shinon was not fully aware of the fact that he had stood, nor had he paid attention to how his feet had carried him after her, or how that, when she stopped, he walked right into her.

His mind went fuzzy as his lips met hers. They tasted sweet, and he felt a slight buzz in the back of his head.

It must have been the drink.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! And for all of you who are waiting on an Ice update, I promise I've got it in the works. Please drop a review. They motivate me~ :)**


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